


One Is the Loneliest Number

by enigmaticblue



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s longer and lonelier where John’s been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Is the Loneliest Number

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt, “isolation/accidentally locked in”. Title from the Three Dog Night song, “One (Is the Loneliest Number)”. AU for 2.12, "Epiphany."

Rodney can’t quite stifle the panic that keeps creeping up to choke him every moment he isn’t working, gathering the supplies and the information he needs to save Sheppard.

 

It’s _his_ fault. Sheppard never would have entered the time dilation field if Rodney had taken note of the time on the video camera. Rodney never should have allowed Sheppard to go through; he should have done it himself.

 

On the other hand, Rodney thinks, if _he_ had been the one to go through, there wouldn’t have been anyone left behind to figure out how to get him _out_.

 

But people continue to distract him, asking him questions that he _didn’t have time to answer_ , and Rodney keeps having to explain even though he doesn’t want to.

 

After they test Zelenka’s theory—a total failure, and Rodney wishes he’d predicted the outcome, wishes he had just gone barreling into the time dilation field—they go to plan B. Rodney insists on going through the field first, even though Ronon and Teyla make the same protective noises they had when Sheppard had first gone through and hadn’t come back.

 

It’s _his fault_ they lost Sheppard, and it will be _his fault_ if they can’t get Sheppard back. Rodney tries not to think about that fact as he waits for the others to come through.

 

The slow passage of time between Elizabeth’s arrival and the rest of his team’s tells Rodney more than he needs to know about how time has passed for Sheppard.

 

Rodney knows he should have included a goddamned note with the food and water and medical supplies. Sheppard had no way of knowing about the difference in the passage of time on his side of the field.

 

They set off in the direction Sheppard’s stone arrow points as soon as everyone is through the barrier. The scenery is picturesque as they tramp downhill through ancient forests, but all Rodney can think is, “ _Sheppard, Sheppard, Sheppard_ ,” with every footfall.

 

They emerge from the trees into a grassy meadow, filled with hay and wildflowers that Rodney might have appreciated under other circumstances, but he’s so focused on finding their missing colonel that he ignores everything until Elizabeth stops him with an outstretched hand.

 

“Rodney,” she says in a low voice. “ _Look_.”

 

Rodney obeys the way he always does when Elizabeth uses _that_ tone of voice, and he immediately sees the figure on the other side of the meadow. “Is that—”

 

He leaves the question unfinished, blinking rapidly as though to clear his vision.

 

Rodney recognizes Sheppard as he moves closer; he knows the set of Sheppard’s shoulders and the way he moves by heart. Sheppard looks feral, wild, his bearded face creased in a frown, his lean frame stiff with tension. For a moment, Rodney isn’t even sure Sheppard recognizes them.

 

And then Sheppard is only a few feet away, and his hazel eyes go wide. “I—are you really here?”

 

Rodney notes the hoarse, unused quality of Sheppard’s voice, the way he keeps his distance from them.

 

Sheppard seems ready to run, ready to disappear back into the forest. He is bare-chested, his BDUs torn and dirty. He doesn’t look like the Colonel Sheppard that went through the barrier the day before.

 

“We’re here, John,” Elizabeth says, projecting so much reassurance that even Rodney can feel it. “We’re real.”

 

Sheppard half-stumbles toward them, clearly uncertain about whether or not he can believe her. Rodney meets him halfway, holding out a hand to clasp Sheppard’s shoulder; he doesn’t know whether he’s reassuring himself or the colonel. “We came as soon as we could.”

 

“It’s been…” Sheppard trails off, as though making a mental tally. “It’s been nearly eighteen months.”

 

Objectively speaking, Rodney had known exactly how much time had passed for Sheppard, but hearing the words coming out of Sheppard’s mouth make it _real_.

 

“You’re—we’re—in a time dilation field,” Rodney explains. “Time passed much more quickly for you than it did for us.”

 

“How much time?” Sheppard demands.

 

They all hesitate, but it’s Rodney who barrels forward. Of course. “Just over 36 hours.”

 

Sheppard closes his eyes and sways slightly. Carson moves forward to take Sheppard’s other arm. “Okay, easy now, Colonel. Let’s get you checked out while Rodney pinpoints the signal.”

 

“Signal?” Sheppard asks faintly.

 

“It’s the same signal we were following when—when you got stuck, remember?” Rodney prompts. “Whatever is keeping this time dilation field in place is probably powered by a ZPM, and if we can locate it, we can kill two birds with one stone,” Rodney shoots back. “Shut up so I can concentrate.”

 

Rodney catches the look that Sheppard sends his way—amused and fond and wistful. He doesn’t understand it, so he pushes it out of his mind.

 

“Give me a minute, and I’ll figure out where it’s coming from,” Rodney promises.

 

Sheppard glances up at the sky, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s going to be dark soon. We should get inside.”

 

“Something we should be worried about?” Ronon asks.

 

Two days ago, Sheppard would have grinned and made a smartass remark; today, he just shakes his head. “Not as long as we’re inside.”

 

“Do you have a place?” Elizabeth asks gently, as though she’s speaking to a skittish animal.

 

Sheppard hitches a shoulder. “This way.” He lopes off without waiting for them, and Rodney hurries to keep up, right behind the others.

 

~~~~~

 

John feels off-balance. His skin prickles with the knowledge that there are eyes on him. He knows he probably ought to say something, to reassure them that he’s okay, but the words won’t come.

 

He’d given up on rescue after month six, given up talking—even to himself—a few months after that. John isn’t sure he remembers how to hold a conversation.

 

John motions the others inside the small cabin he’d staked out for his own use after leaving the cave he’d first emerged in.

 

“Colonel,” Beckett breathes, and John flinches. The scars on his side from where the creature had first taken a swipe at him are pretty horrific, and all the more obvious as John holds the door open.

 

John shakes his head. “Looks worse than it was.”

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Beckett replies. “Take a seat, and I’ll look you over.”

 

John sits on one of his salvaged chairs, grateful that he keeps the place relatively clean. He catches their stares as they look from him to the wall where he’s been keeping a tally of the passing days.

 

“Let me have a look, Colonel,” Beckett murmurs, kneeling on the floor next to John.

 

John does his best not to flinch away as Beckett touches his wrist to check his pulse, trying not to let the incipient panic show in his face.

 

After so long alone, the small cabin feels crowded, and John is claustrophobic in a way he didn’t know is possible.

 

“How has your diet been, Colonel?” Beckett asks, and the question gives John something else to focus on other than his desperate need to get away.

 

“There are orchards,” John replies. “And a few animals.”

 

Beckett hums under his breath and murmurs something about John being anemic and possibly malnourished. “You’ve lost some weight,” Beckett says, his eyes narrowing with worry. “I’ll want a full workup when we get back to Atlantis, but it seems you haven’t done too badly for yourself.”

 

John’s stomach chooses just that moment to growl loudly, and it breaks some of the growing tension in the room as the other laugh. “When did you last eat?” Beckett asks.

 

John has to think about the question, and it turns out that he doesn’t remember. In spite of the markings on the wall, the days bleed together with little to set them apart, and he eats because he has to, not because the food is appealing.

 

“Here,” Ronon grunts and fishes an MRE out of his pack. “It’s about time for dinner anyway.”

 

John catches it and glances at Elizabeth and Teyla, who are fishing out their own meals. Beckett nods. “Go ahead and eat, Colonel, but go slow. You’ll likely make yourself sick otherwise.”

 

McKay suddenly makes a noise that sounds a lot like triumph; John remembers that noise fondly. “Okay, I’ve got it. The signal isn’t too far from here. We should be able to shut down the field no problem.”

 

“Tomorrow,” John says firmly, even though he really, _really_ wants out of the cabin right now.

 

The beast roars as if on cue, and McKay’s eyes widen. “What the hell was that?”

 

John shrugs. “I don’t know, but we’re on the menu.”

 

McKay glances at John’s side where the scars are displayed prominently, and he swallows audibly. “But we’re safe in here, right?”

 

“So far,” John replies honestly.

 

McKay frowns, and opens his mouth to say more, but stops. Instead, he speaks sharply, “Maybe you should put a shirt on, Sheppard.”

 

John blushes, embarrassed by his appearance for the first time in months. “I would if I had one,” he finally says.

 

McKay flushes, and he mutters an apology as he digs around in his pack, coming up with a dark t-shirt that John pulls on with murmured thanks. The shirt hangs on him, and John wonders how they must see him.

 

He’s awkward and uneasy, and John rips into his MRE to cover his confusion. The others quickly follow suit, and John thinks they might be just as uncomfortable as he is, uncertain how to treat him, or what to say.

 

It’s been a month or more since he had meat, and the beef stew tastes okay, but the combined smells from the others’ MREs quickly overwhelm him in the small quarters. He makes it halfway through before setting the rest aside. Beckett gives John a sharp, knowing look but says nothing, and John busies himself with lighting the lamps.

 

“Where did you come by these things, John?” Teyla asks.

 

“They were here,” John says simply.

 

“But there was no one living here?” Elizabeth asks.

 

John shakes his head.

 

“I wonder where they all went,” Teyla murmurs, finishing her meal.

 

John just shrugs and finishes securing the cabin for the night. He can hear the beast growling outside, and he puts the bar across the door, standing briefly by the lone window. He thinks he can see the creature pacing outside, probably drawn in by the scent of new people and the lights.

 

John typically goes to bed and rises with the sun; he rarely uses the lamps because there had never been much oil, and he’d wanted to conserve his supplies.

 

Behind him, McKay begins to expand on the potential source and purpose of the field, and Elizabeth inserts her own thoughts based on the writing outside the entrance.

 

Even though he’s tempted, John _doesn’t_ say that he doesn’t give a fuck what the purpose was; he’s lost a year and a half of his life for no reason at all.

 

“John?” Elizabeth calls, and he can tell from her tone of voice that they’ve been trying to get his attention for a while. “Are you okay?”

 

“Just tired,” he says, and it’s not entirely a lie. The sun is fully hidden behind the horizon now, and it’s well past his usual bedtime.

 

Ever the diplomat, Elizabeth suggests, “Maybe we should get some sleep.”

 

No one argues, and John insists that he take the floor. After some polite debate, Elizabeth and Teyla end up taking the bed, while John stretches out on the floor along one wall. Rodney, Ronon, and Beckett settle down not far away, although McKay grumbles the entire time about his back.

 

John stares at the ceiling for a long time. The beast roars outside, but that’s not the sound keeping John awake—it’s the sound of his team breathing, of McKay snoring, of Elizabeth murmuring softly in her sleep.

 

The sounds are both familiar and not, and John shifts, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor, trying to get comfortable inside his own skin again.

 

It doesn’t come easily.

 

~~~~~

 

Rodney focuses mostly on finding whatever tool the Ancients built to create the time dilation field, and then on shutting it down. He purposefully _doesn’t_ think about Sheppard, the new tension in his shoulders, or the way he stays on the edge of the group.

 

Rodney’s focus is rewarded when the field dissipates and he walks away with a ZPM, even though it’s probably only a quarter charged. With the radios working again, Elizabeth calls Corwin to fly them out. The pilot’s eyes widen slightly when he catches sight of Sheppard, but he half-stands to give the colonel the helm.

 

“Sir—”

 

“Why don’t you fly us back, Lieutenant?” Sheppard asks, and some of the old easiness is back in his voice. “I’m a little rusty.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

Sheppard takes a seat along one of the benches in the back, as close to the rear hatch as he can get. Rodney wonders if he’s still feeling self-conscious about his appearance, or possibly the lack of personal hygiene. Ronon beats Rodney to the seat across from Sheppard, and their silence seems to permeate the jumper.

 

Ronon rarely says much, but for Sheppard to be this quiet—

 

Rodney wonders what state he would be in if he had lived in solitude for eighteen months; he’d counted of the marks on Sheppard’s wall, and each one had been a silent accusation as to how badly Rodney has failed him.

 

Eighteen months, Rodney thinks, and at least a few new scars. He hates to think of Sheppard alone and hurt, and maybe even giving up on being rescued.

 

When they arrive back at Atlantis, Carson immediately starts shooing Sheppard in the direction of the infirmary. “Wait!” Rodney calls, still clutching the ZPM to his chest. “Meet you for dinner?”

 

Sheppard hitches one shoulder and offers a half-smile. “Yeah. See you later.”

 

Normally, with a new ZPM, Rodney would disappear into his lab for days at a time, reveling in all the systems coming online. But they’ve installed ZPMs before, and there’s a procedure in place that even his most idiotic minions can follow.

 

Besides, Rodney keeps thinking of Sheppard and the expression on his face as Carson led him towards the infirmary; the words _my fault_ keep echoing through Rodney’s head.

 

Rodney allows Zelenka to drool over the ZPM a bit, and then they charge Kusanagi and Simpson with the initial testing. By the time Rodney finishes that up, it’s 1800 hours, and definitely time for dinner.

 

But when he arrives at the mess, Sheppard is nowhere to be seen, although Rodney spots Teyla and Ronon at a table, and he makes a beeline in that direction. “Where’s the colonel?” he demands without preamble.

 

Ronon and Teyla share a look that Rodney can’t read, and Teyla explains, “John said that he was too tired to join us.”

 

Rodney frowns, his gut twisting a bit, because it’s meatloaf tonight. Surely Sheppard couldn’t have forgotten how much he likes meatloaf.

 

He gives brief thought to berating Sheppard over the radio until he agrees to come to the mess, but gives that up as a bad idea a second later. Sheppard has never responded well to Rodney yelling at him, and Rodney doesn’t believe that’s changed. Instead, he says, “I’ll take care of it,” and stalks out.

 

Rodney is fully prepared to force the door if he has to, but it slides open as soon as he waves his hand over the access panel, and he’s a little off-balance when he walks inside.

 

Sheppard is standing by the window, looking out at the ocean, one hand pressed against the wall. His head is bent, and Rodney takes in the vulnerable curve of Sheppard’s neck, the now-loose black t-shirt, the BDUs that hang low on his hips, and his bare feet.

 

“You shaved,” is all he can say.

 

Sheppard rubs his jaw self-consciously, not turning to look at Rodney. “Yeah.”

 

“I thought we were going to eat dinner together.” Rodney looks for a reaction, wanting to push buttons until he gets one, until he can deduce what has changed, because something has.

 

Sheppard turns just enough for Rodney to catch his expression, and it’s longing mixed up with fear, and suddenly it’s clear what’s wrong.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, and the theory of everything—the theory of Sheppard—falls into place. “Oh, for God’s sake, just—stay right there.”

 

Sheppard’s eyebrows go up at the order, but he shrugs amenably. “Not going anywhere, Rodney.”

 

“Good, just—stay,” Rodney orders again, and then slips out.

 

“I’m not a dog!” Sheppard calls out behind Rodney, but Rodney just smiles.

 

~~~~~

 

In a way, the trip to the infirmary is as familiar as the back of his hand. John has lost track of the number of post-mission checkups he’s had, although he still has to brace himself for Beckett’s touch.

 

Beckett confirms the diagnosis he made in the field, pronouncing John “relatively fit” and pumping him full of vitamins and antibiotics. He checks the scars on John’s side one more time and shakes his head.

 

“This was pretty bad, Colonel.”

 

John doesn’t want to talk about it—doesn’t really want to talk at all—and so he just looks away. “I made it,” is all he can say.

 

Beckett finally gives up and says, “You’re going to be doing a few sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer.”

 

John grimaces. He likes her more than a lot of psychologists, but he’s not sure he can tell her what she needs to hear to clear him for duty.

 

John isn’t sure he can tell her anything.

 

“I know,” he finally says, and that seems to satisfy Beckett, who releases John with a stern warning to take it easy for a few days.

 

John is relieved that the rest of the team is already gone, and he heads back to his quarters. Atlantis is a quiet, familiar hum in the back of his mind, and he runs his hand along the wall, reveling in her welcome.

 

No matter how changed John might be, Atlantis is the same. It’s the only thing keeping John from feeling completely out of place. A few people give him startled looks as he walks by before nodding or smiling uncertainly. He suspects the beard and tattered clothing are throwing them, and it’s another reminder that only two days have passed on Atlantis. The gossip mill wouldn’t have had time to churn out the story yet, so how could they know? How could they understand?

 

There are far too many people, John thinks as he enters his room. His skin feels too tight, and the familiar urge to run sweeps over him.

 

He showers and shaves for the first time in months, relaxing a bit under the hot spray, feeling tight muscles ease. The skin on his face prickles as he washes off the last of the shaving cream. His hair is too long, but a haircut will have to wait.

 

When John looks in the mirror, he almost recognizes the face staring back at him, and when he pulls on a clean uniform, John feels as though he’s pulling the pieces of himself back together.

 

He’s Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, military leader of the Atlantis Expedition again.

 

But he can’t make himself put on his spare pair of boots and walk out the door to the mess hall to meet his team.

 

When his radio squawks, John answers with a brusque, “Sheppard.”

 

“We’re going to dinner now, John,” Teyla says. “Would you like to join us?”

 

“I think I’m going to pass. I’m a little tired tonight.”

 

The following silence seems to ring in John’s ears, and he waits for the inevitable cajoling. Teyla surprises him by saying, “Of course. Would you like us to bring you something?”

 

He’s tempted to take Teyla up on her offer, but he never has before, and John isn’t about to start now. He thinks it might be better to get back into his usual routine as quickly as possible.

 

John has skipped meals before. He might even have a power bar or two stashed in his room, although that’s mostly for Rodney’s sake.

 

“No, that’s okay,” he replies. “I’m not really hungry anyway.”

 

He clicks off the radio before he can feel the weight of her silent disapproval. John knows that he’s lost weight, that the last months haven’t been kind to him, but he can’t bring himself to see anyone, to make conversation, or to even try to pretend that he’s fine.

 

Not today, anyway. He’ll have to pull himself together tomorrow, but not today.

 

John focuses on the ocean outside of his window, the cool breeze that teases too-long hair, the soft hum of Atlantis. He has no idea how long he’s been standing there when the door slides open behind him.

 

He recognizes McKay’s presence immediately.

 

“You shaved.”

 

In another life, John might have had a snappy reply, but he can’t find it in him right now. “Yeah.”

 

“I thought we were going to eat dinner together,” McKay says, and John can hear the thin thread of disappointment in his voice.

 

John doesn’t know how to respond, how to tell McKay that he no longer fits within the contours of his own life, so John half-turns to look at him.

 

Puzzlement turns into understanding on McKay face; John thinks he looks like he does right before he solves what ought to be an insurmountable problem.

 

John wonders what Rodney knows that he doesn’t.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Rodney exclaims, and orders John to stay put before bustling out.

 

John can’t find it in him to argue, and he turns back to his contemplation of the ocean.

 

When the door slides open again, John turns to find Rodney juggling two trays full of food, his laptop, and a stack of thin, plastic cases used for bootlegged DVDs. Rodney nearly loses one of the trays, and John dives for it reflexively.

 

There’s a moment when he thinks everything might crash to the floor, but John snags the tray and the stack of DVDs, and Rodney sets his load down on the desk.

 

“Eat,” Rodney orders. “Carson says you’re malnourished.”

 

John considers arguing, but he’s out of practice, and now that he smells meatloaf, he’s actually hungry. So, he sits on his bed, the tray balanced on his knees, and begins to scarf his food. Atlantis’ version of meatloaf is one of John’s favorites, and he’s almost forgotten how good it tastes.

 

McKay talks with his mouth full, ranting about some of the stupid tricks his scientists have gotten up to the last few days. John lets McKay’s words wash over him, the tension slowly draining out of him.

 

This is familiar territory, and John knows from experience that McKay doesn’t really expect him to do more than nod and make the occasional comment. John eats most of his dinner and cleans out the pudding cup—butterscotch, and John appreciates the gesture on McKay’s part.

 

“I thought we could watch a movie,” McKay says when he sets his tray aside. “Also, I promised Teyla and Ronon that we’d get breakfast with them tomorrow.”

 

John hesitates, but knows he won’t be able to put them off forever. So, he checks his mini-fridge, pleased to see a few beers he vaguely remembered he had. “Yeah, sure.”

 

“Do you want to look through the DVDs?” McKay offers.

 

John shrugs and sits back down on the bed. “I haven’t seen a movie in a year and a half, McKay. Whatever you want to watch is fine with me.”

 

McKay settles on the bed next to John, so close that they’re touching from shoulder to knee. John stiffens at the contact, but McKay is a stubborn bastard, and he leans back into John.

 

After a moment, John sags into him a bit and lets out a long breath.

 

“I’m sorry,” McKay says as he fumbles the DVD into the drive.

 

John gives him a sharp look. “Sorry for what?”

 

“I should have checked the time on the recorder. It’s my fault you got stuck.”

 

Any anger he might have felt has long since dissipated, and John manages a smile. “You came for me. That’s all that matters.”

 

McKay gives him a sharp look, his blue eyes intent on John’s face. “You didn’t think we would.”

 

“I didn’t know what had happened,” John dodges.

 

McKay bumps John’s shoulder with his own. “We’re always going to come for you, John. You’d do the same for us.”

 

“Yeah,” John says, and he leans a little harder, letting the movie and McKay’s familiar warmth wash over him.

 

For now, it’s more than enough.


End file.
